


Maka look it's the good kush

by kakashi_mole



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Character Study, Dom/sub, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Headcanon, Marijuana, Slice of Life, Soul is a piece of shit stoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashi_mole/pseuds/kakashi_mole
Summary: Soul and Maka smoke weed
Relationships: Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	Maka look it's the good kush

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sappiest and spiciest thing I’ve ever written. The alternate title for this fic was “Maka and Soul have an inhuman amount of stamina when it comes to weed and sex".  
> I imagined their ages to be around 21.  
> Thanks for stopping by to read!

Maka smelled the weed before she even put the key in the front door lock. 

It wasn’t the first time Soul had smoked in the apartment. She’d caught him several times over the past year, although he wasn’t necessarily trying to be secretive about it. Sometimes he’d leave evidence— a rolled joint on the couch, a lighter on the bathroom counter. Once she had accidentally vacuumed up a little bag of it he had left lying on the floor. He was mad at first, but then started laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, a rarity for the usual neutral look he kept on his face. 

As she entered the apartment, fumbling with the grocery bags in her hand, she hoped that he at least opened a window. More so, she was still wondering when, and how, she was going to break the news to him that she’d been asked to leave Death City for a mission, without him, for the next couple of weeks. 

She noticed that the sink, which had been overflowing with dirty dishes before she left, had been cleaned. The countertop was clean too, and the floors shined from a healthy coating of pine sol. The girl smiled, one hand on her hip, taking in the sight of the tidy apartment. She had been gone all day, tutoring at Shibusen, running errands, and waiting in lines, dreading the thought of coming home to the disastrous state of the apartment that evening. To her relief, it seemed Soul had taken care of it. 

Maka placed the grocery bags on the kitchen table, then followed the marijuana smell to Soul’s room. His door was open and the room was filled with the evening sun’s light. On the desk a green candle was lit, its cedar smell intermingling with the joint in his hand. He was sitting on the windowsill, one leg propped on a chair, the breeze coming through the open window rustling the front of his shirt. He had a pair of headphones over his ears, and he was staring out into the city, watching the sunset drape the buildings in soft yellow light. 

Maka knocked at the doorframe, causing Soul to lift his head in her direction. He pulled the headphones down so they rested on his shoulders, shifting the joint to his other hand to let it hover outside the window. 

“Hey,” he said. “How’d the tutoring go?” 

“Good,” Maka answered. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, her mouth puckering in thought. “Some of these first-years have no clue though. The weapons are always trying to show off, and the meisters need alot of practice. I mean… _alot_ of practice.” 

She rubbed at the temples of her head as she recalled the day’s events. Two meisters had the bright idea to swap weapons for the lesson, and all four of them had to go to the nurse’s office with injuries, not to mention their soul wavelengths had been completely compromised. 

_Maybe I should have warned them about switching weapons_ , she thought to herself. _Then again, pain can be a great lesson_. 

“They can’t all be the great Maka Albarn,” Soul mused. He leaned back against the window frame, interlacing his hands on top his stomach. The joint stayed pinched between his fingers, its smoke twirling in the air. 

Maka laughed, walking into the room and joining him at the window. She sat down opposite him, felt the cool late summer air drift over her bare legs. Soul’s eyes followed her legs, his eyes lingering on them as she continued. 

“It’s so infuriating to watch! They argue with their teammates, then stupidly charge headfirst into battle without _any_ strategy.” 

“Yeah—,” Soul responded, a little twist of a smile on his mouth, “—reminds me of someone I know.” 

Maka pursed her mouth, reaching out and giving a smack on his shoulder. Soul breathed a laugh, readjusting his hold on the joint so it didn’t ash on the floor. 

With a jut of her chin, Maka acknowledged it. 

“Let me guess. You cleaned the entire apartment, and that’s your reward?” 

Soul looked at the joint. He lifted it to his lips and took a puff, letting the heavy smoke cascade out his mouth. Maka felt her heart skip a beat, watching how the smoke touched his lips, how his jaw went slack as he exhaled. His eyelids drooped heavy. 

“It’s something,” he admonished. He extended the joint, offering it to the girl in front of him. 

“It’s been awhile,” Maka said, but she took it in her hands, her fingers grazing over his. 

“It’s cool. You don’t have to.” 

“I’ve already got it in my hands,” she giggled. She brought it to her mouth, inhaling a tiny bit before letting out a cough. She blinked, laughing. “Geez, it has been awhile.” 

She cleared her throat, taking in another inhale, this time deeper. She passed it back to Soul, then leaned back against the window frame, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she smiled, gazing out into the last light of sunset. It glittered like jewels on the rooftops. She felt herself softening at the flowers decorating the balconies, the city residents saying their hello’s and goodbye’s on their walk home, the way wet laundry hung from clotheslines on the neighbor’s balcony, the cooled fabric rustling in the breeze. On the street below, a group of kids kicked a soccer ball back and forth, the sounds of their scuffling play echoing between buildings. 

The marijuana always made her feel like this: warm, and content with the simplicity of life. It also made her face red, something she learned the first time she had smoked. Soul told her it was normal after she had looked in a mirror and panicked, thinking she was having some kind of allergic reaction, or worse, she was going to be stuck looking like a tomato for the rest of her life. 

“You’re so cute when you’re high.” 

Maka turned her head to see Soul watching her. He had leaned back against the window frame, lifting his foot on the sill and resting his hand lazily over his knee. The heavy scent of weed wafted between them. In the quiet she could hear the melody of a piano, mellow and somber, drift from his headphones. 

Maka chewed on her bottom lip, pursing her mouth as she averted her gaze, trying as best she could not to smile. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled. This time she could feel her face was red from more than just the weed. 

She leaned forward, taking the joint from his hand, and smoked another lungful. The plume of white smoke curled out the window and into the desert air. 

“Thanks for cleaning the apartment, by the way,” she said. 

“S’no problem,” he answered. He tilted his head, saw the red blush extend down her face, to her neck, ending at the top button of her blouse. 

Maka began laughing, using the back of her hand to cover her mouth. 

“What?” Soul asked. 

“Black*Star showed up today. At my tutoring session.” 

She covered her eyes with the palm of her hand, unable to halt her laughter. 

“Fuck. What did he do?” 

“Nothing bad. He just told my students that if they wanted to stop being little shits they would need to learn how to be like him.” 

Soul shook his head, an exasperated sigh leaving his throat. 

“Oh my god.” 

He couldn’t help but join her in her contagious laughter. If there was one thing he loved about his meister, it was the sound of her voice— how it could go from sweet and bubbly to ferocious and brutal was a mystery to him, one that he found endearing as the years waned on. Her voice was certainly a melody that had impeccable range. 

She looked up, tears formed in her green eyes. Soul felt warmth in his chest, seeing her so at ease. 

“Oh wow,” Maka gasped, clearing her throat. She wiped at the tears in her eyes, her voice still humming with laughter. “I think I smoked enough for now.” 

She lifted the joint, passing it back to Soul. It had burned down to a black nub. Soul brought it to his mouth, smoked the last bit, then snuffed it out on the windowsill. He let the last of it leave his hands, rolling off his fingers and into the breeze. 

The pair of them watched the thin paper blow away, bits of burnt weed scattering over the tops of the buildings. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, casting a veil of dark blue twilight over the city. A thin line of orange light remained on the horizon, and they sighed, their heads leaned back against the window frame. This was the city they had sought to protect; the world they risked their lives for. Watching the first star appear in the sky reminded them what they were fighting for, always together as a team, never alone. 

Maka brushed her knee over Soul’s knee, getting him to turn and face her. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” 

“I’m down,” he answered. The marijuana settled him, made his blood warm and his heartbeat steady. He opened his mouth to ask if he could kiss her, because for all that was good in Life and Death, she was so stunningly beautiful, and he wanted nothing more than to press his mouth against her’s. 

“Ah, I forgot to put away the groceries,” Maka stated, thumping the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Give me five minutes, ‘kay?” 

She hoisted herself off the windowsill, pulling her shorts down as she walked away. Soul watched her go, his droopy eyes fixated on the way those shorts clung to her thighs and backside. 

He placed his headphones on his desk, bending forward to blow out the candle as he passed by. He followed her into the kitchen, where the scattered husks of plastic bags lined the table. 

“The icecream melted,” she said. 

“What kind?” Soul asked, reaching into a bag to help. 

“Rocky road.” 

“Getting a little crazy with the icecream selection.” 

“No!” Maka turned from putting a box of pasta in the cabinet. “Rocky road is incredibly normal.” 

She stood on tiptoe, desperate to reach the top shelf. 

“You always get vanilla,” Soul responded. He went to her side, taking the box from her and placing it on the top shelf without difficulty. Maka pursed her mouth, exhaling forcefully through her nose in mock frustration, making Soul bite down a chuckle. 

She put the milk in the fridge, then took her keys from the counter. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she huffed. “You know, you used to be shorter than me, so don’t get all cocky just because puberty did its thing.” 

Soul pulled his jacket off the kitchen chair, thrusting his arms into it as he quirked a brow at her. She wouldn’t deny that his height surprised her, even though he claimed it was “no big deal, everyone in my family is tall.” It was also infuriating for two reasons— one, he made sure to let her know what the weather was like up there, and two, because it made her think about his body in ways she hadn’t when they first partnered together. Perhaps infuriating wasn’t the right word; rather, it was intriguing, because his arms and shoulders filled out, the planes of his back and torso tapered down to his hips in a way that made her imagine what it would be like to wrap her legs around him. He could easily pick her up, whether it was because he was joking, or during a battle, when she became too injured to move on her own. She remembered the first time they had removed their clothes in front of each other, and how she couldn’t stop shaking, both from the cold A/C in the apartment, and because his usual bored, disinterested eyes had suddenly become fixed and focused on her, the red burning as he pulled her into his arms as though she were a lifeline. 

Maka stepped out of the apartment first, feeling Soul’s elbows graze over her own as he followed. She locked the door, and they stepped down the hall. Together they went down the flight of stairs, exiting out of the building into the cool night air. 

Soul stared at the ground, his hands shoved into his pockets. It didn’t matter if it was day or night, crowd or no crowd. He preferred to contain himself, to reduce the possibility of anyone staring at him. 

It had gotten better, the longer he’d been Maka’s partner. He would never admit it, but he did think of himself as a freak, a demon weapon, a scythe to the very core. He had gotten stares from little kids in grocery stores, kids who bared their lips and pointed at their teeth to indicate something was different about his, and even a few demeaning remarks from adults in public commenting on the blood red color of his eyes; but, instead of shutting down, he thought of Maka, and replied that he had no shame in being a weapon— in fact, he was proud to be one, and he was proud to be Maka Albarn’s scythe. 

And even though being a Death Scythe was something he took pride in, it was the piano he began drifting towards these last few years, even going so far as to work a job at a piano shop. Granted, he was a tuner, working as a recluse in the back of the shop, taking his time with careful precision to find the right balance in each and every piano that came to him. The store owner didn’t mind how quiet the young man was, and he didn’t make too much fuss over him being the last Death Scythe either. Soul worked out of the public’s sight, closing his eyes and honing in on the piano, asking the witch’s soul within him to spin its web around the piano strings. A treble note, and he shivered, remembering the light peck of Maka’s lips against his that morning before going off to work; a bass note, deep and rumbling, and his jaw clenched, feeling her moan in their locked mouths as he moved inside her. It was like coming home to an old friend, a familiar voice— often times, he would get the overwhelming feeling that the familiarity of the piano keys felt the same as Maka’s skin under his fingers. He recalled the memory— how they were alone, undressing each other, their flurry of kisses becoming a whirlwind of need. He would grasp at her shoulder blades, running his fingertips down her back, over each bump of her ribs, the pressure causing the sweetest chimes to leave her mouth, like that of the piano keys singing out their notes. He couldn’t shake the feeling— making love with her was like the melody of a piano, and with his soul splayed open he would pour himself into the song. 

As they walked the cobblestone streets, the lanterns glowing gold from candlelight, Maka nudged him with her shoulder. Soul bumped her back in return. 

The marijuana warmed their bodies, made the colors of the night stoke the fires in their souls like the pulsating candlelight. Maka nudged his elbow again, and without a word, Soul pulled his hand from his jacket pocket, reaching out to interlace his fingers with her own. 

Soul squeezed her hand, and together they walked like that, hand in hand, occasionally pressing their palms tightly together, rubbing their thumbs against the smooth skin of each other’s hand. 

“Kid wants me to travel to South America, to do some recon work.” 

Soul lifted his eyes from the ground and looked at her. 

“It won’t be for too long. Two weeks, tops.” 

Soul nodded. 

“When are you leaving?” 

Maka reached out, her hand grazing over a basket of flowers on a shop windowsill. 

“The end of this week,” she said. 

She continued, “He said that he wants you to take over my after-school tutoring class while I’m gone.” 

Soul veered back. 

“Eh?” 

“I’m telling you before Kid bombards you with demands,” she said. “He thinks it’d be a great opportunity for you to teach the new generation.” 

“Maka, I am the last person they should give that job.” 

She could feel the way nervousness had set into his body, even though his voice remained calm and neutral. He rubbed at the back of his neck, shaking his head. 

“Black*Star can do it. I bet he’s dying to kick freshmen ass.” 

Maka tutted under her breath, jostling Soul’s hand in her own. 

“I think _you_ should do it. Do you know how many of my students are dying to meet the last Death Scythe?” 

“Then I guess they’ll take that regret to their graves.” 

“Soul, try it once. Please. For me?” 

Soul glanced at her, still incredulous. Maka’s eyes became soft and pleading, and he scoffed. 

“Okay,” he relented. “I’ll take some time off from the piano shop.” 

Maka wrapped her arm around his and squeezed. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked on. A car passed by, its headlights filling the street with yellow light before turning behind a building. A few night walkers were out, and the bars were open. Crowds of people mingled outside the bars, the muffled sounds of music drifting throughout the night. Maka shivered, and Soul slowed their pace. 

“You cold?” he asked. He noticed the goosebumps on her exposed thighs. 

“Kind of,” she replied, watching as Soul shrugged off his jacket. 

“No, I’m fine,” she said, waving her hand as Soul draped it over her shoulders. They walked downhill, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the alleyways. She lifted her arm and flexed her bicep. “I can handle the cold. I’m tough as nails, remember?” 

“Sure,” Soul said, giving her bicep a shove. “Just take the jacket.” 

He grinned, lowering his head and glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. She was tough as hell, and her work as a scythe meister had given her lean body a decent amount of muscle. She was strong enough to knock a perpetrator straight on their ass, if the occasion needed it. 

It was another thing he loved about his meister, although the list grew with each passing year: her strength, both inside and out. Once in gym class, he had been roped into partnering with her during a sparring match, even though he told their teacher Nygus, that, no, “ _she is seriously going to kick my ass_ ”, to which Nygus told him to “ _quit belly-aching and give it your best effort_.” 

And he did. Black*Star had finished making last minute bets with the other students that Maka was going to destroy Soul just as the match started. On the mat they circled each other, and when her back was turned to the audience, Maka puckered her lips in a kiss, causing Soul’s face to go red and for him to mouth the words, ' _I hate you_.' They were unable to stop their smiles, Maka’s full and bright, Soul’s crooked and cynical. 

They lunged for each other, grasping at each other’s shoulders, their foreheads pressed together. As they strained against each other, trying to pin their opponent to the ground, Soul whispered, “You look good in those shorts Albarn.” 

Maka scrunched her face, a red blush dusting her face as she grabbed the back of his shirt, her foot stepping forward and blocking his stance. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” she said, her voice low and gravelly. She blocked his movement with her arm, moving quickly to knock him off balance with her foot. They pulled apart, Soul fumbling to the ground as Maka circled him. The sounds of their bodies wrestling, grappling for one another, echoed loudly against the mats, the onlookers hollering for either one to win. 

Soul and Maka paused, their hands gripping each other’s shirt sleeves. They bumped foreheads, noses brushing against each other. They were out of breath, and Soul chuckled as Maka grabbed him and flung him to the side. 

He caught himself, then pounced, intent on grabbing her around her waist, but Maka blocked him again. She took hold of his wrist and thrust the heel of her palm into his back, causing him to fall to the ground. She didn’t let go; instead, she stooped down, keeping her hold on his wrist, using her other arm to put him in a chokehold. 

Nygus blew the whistle. Soul tapped out, and Maka let go. They stood, Maka smiling at him, Soul looking down at her before he smiled back, flashing a full row of sharp pointed teeth. It was enough to quicken the hot red pulse between her legs, and she begged the clock to move faster and for class to be over so she could push him into the janitor’s closet and feel him pressed close to her. 

He didn’t wait for that, however. When she was the last one in the girl’s locker room, Soul strolled in, pulling her into a shower stall and flinging the curtain shut as she scrambled to undo his belt buckle. The kisses were fast and fervent, their shoes squeaking against the tile floor. It was dizzying, the way their bodies could communicate like this, and more so when they breathed in unison and allowed their souls to touch, halfway between a heartbeat and a kiss. 

They came to the town square. The sidewalks were adorned with beds of flowers— tough, waxy flowers that could survive the desert heat— and Maka’s eyes followed the trail of them towards the fountain. She let go of Soul’s hand, darting towards it. She skipped once, turning in the air, before slowing her pace to a walk. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of Soul’s jacket, kicking at a pebble. Soul continued towards her, slowing his pace. The candle flames in the streetlight flickered softly— he watched her, his partner, his lover and friend, and felt the ache in his chest of knowing how fleeting these moments were, how their time together was as transitory as the candle melting under the heated flame. 

He tried telling himself it was just the marijuana. That he had smoked alot that evening and even a seasoned stoner could get panicky every now and then. Soul watched Maka walk the circumference of the fountain, her shadow touching his own shadow, and felt that he would never know why their souls fit together the way they did. Of all the billions of souls on the planet, their’s came together to do what seemed the impossible. Maybe, it was always supposed to be like this. 

Maka sat on the fountain wall. The sleeves of Soul’s jacket covered her hands, and she rubbed her balled fists down her thighs, trying to warm herself. 

Soul gravitated towards her, turning around and plopping down beside her. The fountain water trickled behind them. 

“I can feel it, you know.” 

Soul blinked, turning to look at her. 

Maka’s hand was pressed against her chest. 

“The music. It lives in everything.” 

She looked at him, the candlelight reflecting in her emerald eyes. 

“I think you gave that to me.” 

Soul’s breath slowed. He felt it— that touch of their souls which they tried so desperately to save for battle— and carefully, he reached out, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Do you feel it when we kiss?” he asked, so quiet that he could barely hear himself. 

Maka nodded. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and leaned forward, the tips of their noses brushing before she bit back a laugh. Soul hovered, then pulled back. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Your eyes,” she said. “They’re really red.” 

Soul narrowed his gaze, his lip curling in confusion. 

“My eyes are always red,” he responded, but Maka shook her head, placing her hand gently against his cheek. 

“No, I mean, they’re noticeably red. Like you’re stoned. Really stoned.” 

They leaned into each other, the pace of their hearts quickening. 

“I am stoned.” 

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek. The sounds of the fountain— of water sprinkling on water, the lights reflecting gold on the rippling surface— blurred his vision as he leaned forward, closing his eyes. She closed her eyes, sighing when their foreheads touched. She ducked her head, kissing his wrist before lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, his nose, the smooth skin of his forehead. Their lips trailed each other before interlocking, and the pair of them, meister and weapon, melted into the touch, neither wanting to break apart. They refused to catch their breath, rushing to exchange kiss after deep-intertwined kiss, their hands disappearing behind their shirts, following the contours of each other’s body. 

Soul’s mouth trailed along her face, planting kisses down her neck, when Maka suddenly froze. Soul paused, lifting his head to face her. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

Maka bit her bottom lip, then rolled her eyes, indicating the area around them. 

They pulled apart to see a few passersby on their nightly walks. Some had seen what transpired, their hands covering their mouths as they whispered, continuing on their stroll throughout the city streets. 

Maka’s face was burning red, but if she was embarrassed, she didn’t say so. She fidgeted, her fists balled tightly in her lap. Perhaps it was the weed dizzying her inhibition. 

Or perhaps it was because their lips were raw from kissing, and they felt stunned from the intensity of the moment, and neither of them had even realized that their hands were intertwined until Soul gave her a gentle squeeze. 

Maka shivered, her teeth chattering as the desert chilled around them. If it was one thing Soul didn’t understand about Death City, it was the way the night could become so cold after the scorching daylight hours. 

Soul rubbed his hands up and down her arms. Her bare thighs trembled in the cold, and goosebumps dotted her pale skin. He placed his hand on her thigh, then pulled back, his fingers brushing over a scab on her knee. 

“Want to head back?” he questioned. 

Maka’s teeth chattered again. She nodded, joining Soul as they stood up. Normally, the realization that people were staring at him would cause him to panic, in that quiet sort of way, but he was too stoned to really take note, and besides, he was getting too cold himself. And hungry. For the love of Lord Death, his stomach was twisted in a knot of hunger. He stood, elbow to elbow with Maka. They headed back towards the apartment, lifting their heads to see the faintest sliver of moonlight shining down on them. 

“Soul?” Maka asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m really hungry.” 

They stepped out of the shadow of a building and into the streetlight. 

“Maka?” 

Maka glanced at him, questioning him with her eyes. He looked at her, his red eyes nearly glowing in the dim light. 

“I am _so_ fucking hungry.” 

Maka clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She got behind him, placed her hands on his back, and pushed him uphill. 

“Then let’s get going!” 

——————————— 

It was her idea to have breakfast for dinner. Well, breakfast for dinner, in the nighttime. Time wasn’t really the issue here. The only thing that mattered was getting the pancake batter mixed and ready. 

Halfway between preparing the ingredients and heating the stove, they changed out of their clothes— Soul into sweatpants, Maka into an old band t-shirt, the sleeve hanging off her shoulder. She kicked off her shorts, and decided to remain like that, pantsless, sauntering around the kitchen in her underwear. Soul dropped a record on the player. The scratch of the needle filled the silence, and then a melody began, followed by a beat that made Maka roll her shoulders and stick her tongue out at the white-haired boy. 

Soul’s eyes followed her as she danced along to the song, her bare feet plodding against the kitchen floor, hips swaying as she measured out the pancake mix. 

As the breakfast-for-dinner was getting ready, Soul rolled another joint, bringing it into the kitchen and lighting it. Maka swatted at him, telling him to go smoke at a window. He took a drag, ducked his head under the stove’s exhaust fan, and exhaled. He mimicked a snarl, raising his lip at the girl as she slid open the balcony door and pushed him outside. The chill of the night air enveloped their bodies, and both of them gazed up at the stars. Before Maka walked inside, she took the joint, inhaling a deep lungful, coughing against the smoke. 

She went inside, leaving the balcony door open. The heavy curtains fluttered in the breeze. 

Soul tensed, his teeth chattering from the cold. The desert nights proved to be some of the coldest, and darkest, on the planet— at least, that’s what he felt for the place he learned to call home. 

It was fitting, for the black blood swimming in his veins. 

He puffed on the joint, his elbows resting against the balcony railing, feeling his thoughts haze and slow. 

He remembered coming out here one night a long time ago, well into the early hours of the AM, because he couldn’t sleep. Strange nightmares involving black-blooded demons, grotesque bodies warping in and out of piano keys, kept wracking the inside of his mind. He had gone out here, just to clear his thoughts, when he found Maka leaning on the balcony, her chin resting on top her crossed arms. She was in her pajamas, her feet bare, her loose hair hanging over her bony shoulders. She lifted her head, looking back at her weapon partner. A cigarette was in her hand. 

Realizing that he was staring at the cigarette, Maka jerked upright, glancing left to right with a chuckle. She let the cigarette dangle over the balcony but did not let it go. 

Soul joined her by her side, resting his arms over the railing. 

He cocked a brow at the cigarette, then said, “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

Maka exhaled heavily through her nose. 

“I don’t.” 

She rotated the cigarette in her hand. Its smoke swirled in the air. 

“It’s fine if you do—“ 

“I don’t,” she interjected. Maka stared ahead, then rested her arms over the railing. She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“I wanted to try it because my papa does it.” 

Soul nodded, his half-lidded gaze going from her to the stars above. 

“Bad habit,” he stated. 

Maka snorted a laugh. 

“Papa’s nothing _but_ bad habits.” 

She rotated her wrist, the cigarette’s end burning red like a rose. She eyed Soul, then brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled. Her eyes bleared from the smoke, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t like it. The smell made her stomach flip, but the nicotine thrummed throughout her system, making her feel at ease, even if it was drug-induced. 

Even if it was her father’s habit, not her’s. 

“How’d you get it?” Soul asked. Neither of them were eighteen yet, and he didn’t think Maka could lie to a cashier clerk, let alone be the thieving type. 

“I stole it from Papa’s stash,” she admitted. 

Soul bit back a grin. _I stand corrected_ , he thought. 

“It’s so dumb,” she said. She took another drag off the cigarette, keeping the cough in her lungs. “I just wanted to do something my dad does. To kind of… know what it’s like to be him.” 

She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. 

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

“Okay,” Soul said. 

“Swear.” 

“I swear.” 

Maka lifted her hand, extending her pinky finger. 

Without hesitating, Soul wrapped his pinky finger around her’s. They squeezed on it. 

The marijuana joint burning in his hand, Soul looked up at the stars, remembering that moment from years ago. He sunk into the memory, the feeling of being wanted, and of wanting in return. All his life his parents had chosen for him, and when he found out he was a weapon, he realized he could escape the beaten path. He went away to Shibusen, finding himself quiet among the crowd. At the first opening ceremony for freshmen, he thought to himself, _this is a mistake_. He didn’t know what he was doing, he looked stupid and out of place in his suit. He didn’t know how to start a conversation with a stranger. He told himself he would never find a partner. 

And then, miraculously, there she was. She wanted a scythe and he just happened to be there, existing as none other than himself. To Maka Albarn, that was good enough. As the years went by, she made it known that _he_ was good enough. 

Soul rolled the lit end of the joint between his fingers until it snuffed out. He winced at the pain, the high taking him back to the moment he played the piano for her, deciding to throw caution to the wind. If she hated his song, then fuck it, but if she liked it, if she liked him— then, fuck it, that’d be fine, but maybe… 

Maybe being wanted wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

Soul went inside, sliding the balcony door closed behind him. He went into his room and placed the leftover joint on his desk. 

As he entered the kitchen he slapped his hands together, rubbing his palms, declaring he was ready to help however he could. 

——————————— 

Maka took over pancake griddle duties, flipping half a dozen onto a plate, before Soul took over, cracking eggs and frying bacon into the skillet while Maka watched him. She sat on the kitchen chair, her bare legs crossed and foot bouncing along with the music. 

It killed her, watching how meticulous he got with cooking. She’d never admit he was better at it than her, although he did tend to neglect more delicate foods, like curry, or in this instance, scrambled eggs. He uttered a curse to himself, turning the burner on low as the eggs sizzled and popped in the pan. 

Maka stood. She opened the cabinet door and pulled down the aluminum foil, cutting free a sheet to place over the plate of pancakes. The warmth and smell made her stomach tighten, but she told herself to wait. Soul insisted on finishing the rest— eggs, bacon, and a bag of grits tucked away in the corner of the cabinet— and she liked seeing him so determined to complete a meal. 

She placed the aluminum foil back into the cabinet, noting how the plates and bowls and utensils had been neatly arranged. 

“Did you organize the cabinet?” she asked. 

Soul peered over his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Is that alright?” 

Maka let the cabinet door shut gently. 

“It is. Thank you.” 

Soul gave a smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling, before returning his attention to the frying pan. 

The taste of weed was still stuck to her tongue. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she’d smoked, but she did know that the night was urging her to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face into his back. She took in a deep breath, smelling his familiarity. Marijuana smoke and cedar pine clung to his shirt, and she wrapped her arms tighter, her burning cheek pressed in the dip between his shoulder blades. 

Soul flipped a piece of bacon, scrapping it next to the eggs on the pan. When Maka was this close, he could feel the rhythm of her heart. He couldn’t see souls like she could, but somehow, he could hear her’s. It was the wings of a bird taking off in flight, the pluck of a piano string, the patter of rain when the desert sky finally relented and provided sweet relief from the scorching oppressive heat. 

Shivers went down his spine as Maka stood on her tiptoes and kissed his neck, her lips trailing down. She curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt and pulled it down so she could keep kissing his skin. 

Maka glanced up to see the slightest smile on Soul’s face. She bumped against him, sliding her hands up his shirt, tracing her fingers up his stomach, then down his chest. 

The first time they touched like this, it was raining outside. It was a late winter day in the rainy season, and it dripped against the windowpane, a staccato of water droplets sounding against the glass as they kissed on Maka’s bed. The grey light cast deep shadows over their bodies as they moved against each other, only breaking apart to pull off another piece of clothing. 

It was strange, the first time they did that. Soul remembered the confessions pouring forth, the things he had kept to himself pleading to be spoken, like how he was afraid he would never be strong enough for her— and Maka, yanking his shirt off and over his head, faltering, her gaze fixed steady on the scar spread diagonally across his chest. She sat there, frozen, straddling him from above. The bed creaked as Soul reached forward, sliding his hands down her arms, and spoke that mantra he would repeat a dozen times afterwards, 

‘ _It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault_.’ 

The rain pattered against the window, and Maka’s voice cracked in her throat, her mouth turned down as tears welled in her eyes. 

‘ _You almost died_.’ 

She lowered her head, her bangs covering her eyes. 

‘ _I don’t know what I would have done if you died_.’ 

Soul had lifted his hand, brushed away her tears. In the same motion, Maka traced her fingertips over his scar, reminding herself that this was the price they had to pay, and she would be a coward if she refused to face it. 

The heat of the stove, combined with her touch, reddened his skin, made his face flush and a pinprick of sweat to form on his neck. Maka’s hand lingered over his scar, then moved down to rest at the jut of his hipbone. She moved her fingers over the waistband of his sweatpants, causing him to bristle. He flipped over a piece of bacon with the spatula and breathed a low laugh. Maka nipped at his neck, the kisses becoming longer and deeper until he felt her suck at his skin, a sharp kind of pain he knew would leave a purple mark. 

Soul rolled his eyes to the ceiling and swallowed. 

“Maka, I’m… I’m trying to finish cooking this…” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she whispered, her breath brushing over his collarbone. She was standing on her tiptoes, pressing into his back hard enough that he could feel her tits. Soul went completely still, the spatula in his hand hovering over the eggs and bacon. 

“It’s going to get burnt if you distract me,” he said, his voice light and playful. 

“That would suck,” Maka replied. Her hand drifted over the rising bulge in his sweatpants. She felt his breathing pick up, his heartbeat quicken against her touch. 

It was the way he smelled, she thought. Or it was the way his hands could command complete control from a piano, or that he would submit himself to her at the drop of a dime if she asked him to. Or maybe it was the way his voice cracked when he was turned on. She slipped her hand down his sweatpants. 

Soul choked on his breath, grabbing the kitchen counter for support. The food was on the verge of burning. Maka brought her other hand around to hold his neck, her thumb brushing over his jaw. 

Her hand disappeared into his boxers, and she gave him a nudge, pressing him dangerously close to the burning stove. 

“Fuck the food,” he hissed, snapping the burner off and tossing the skillet to the back of the oven. The resounding clatter echoed throughout the kitchen, and in one swift movement Maka removed her hand from his sweatpants, grabbing him by his hips and shoving him against the counter. His stomach pressed against it, her own body blocking him in from behind. 

Soul let her corner him like this, relenting into her grip. The edge of a sharp tooth showed as he turned his head, growling over his shoulder, “Is this how you want me?” 

Maka’s smile was warm and sweet, her chin resting on his shoulder as she slid her hand down, touching his thigh, brushing over his hard cock. 

He could barely muster the words, his voice crackling with intensity. 

“You want to jerk me off?” 

Maka planted a kiss on his jaw, watching how his eyes fluttered close, the white eyelashes sweeping against the dark circles under his eyes. She held onto him, feeling the way his body leaned into her touch, how it was somehow familiar to when she called him into his weapon form. Except here, his hands were gripping the counter, their lungs rising and falling in unison. Her hand went down his boxers, wrapping around him and causing his breath to hitch. 

Maka stroked him then, watching Soul’s face grow red, his lips parting and his breath to come faster. She reached up, grabbing him by his white hair, and yanked, exposing his throat. This was something she had learned, since they first started exploring each other’s bodies, after the dam burst and they couldn’t seem to stop the need to be close to one another. Holding him down by his wrists, tying his arms to the bedframe. Being torn apart, and put back together. Being marked like he was her property, and being told he was her property. He admitted to liking it, practically begging for it. Maka loved watching her tall, slouchy, sharp-toothed, red-eyed scythe pinned to the bed, relenting into the way her hands wrapped around his throat and choked him until a line of drool left his mouth. He trusted her with his life— it didn’t matter if it was on the battlefield, or in bed. He would submit to her, and Maka, yanking his hair back hard enough to hurt, realized she liked it just as much as him, relished it even. 

Soul gripped the edge of the counter tightly, his other hand splayed out in front of him for balance. Maka’s hand moved firmly, pumping faster when she felt how slick and wet he had become. 

“You’ve been so good,” she said hushed. 

Soul hunched forward, her grip on his hair keeping him in place, hips desperate to thrust into her hand. 

“You’ve been such a good weapon.” 

Soul rolled his eyes to the ceiling, the moan of her name tumbling out of his mouth impulsively. His thighs were shaking, and Maka kissed the back of his neck. Her bare toes brushed over his ankles, and Soul’s hand balled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms, feeling the way her soft palm moved up and down his shaft. 

Maka slowed her hand, rubbing slow circles into the head of his cock with her thumb, eliciting another moan to pour out of him. 

She couldn’t help the smile on her face, or the way her fingers found themselves hooked into his open mouth. Soul’s tongue moved over her fingers, before he closed his mouth and sucked on them. 

It was always a risk— kissing him, pushing her tongue past the sharp serration of his teeth— the danger of breaking skin and causing blood to smear across their mouths as the kisses became more hungry, more fervent. Sometimes they had to stop, to calm down, their lips stained red, eyes wide and bleary with breathlessness. 

Maka still had scars on the inside of her bottom lip where he bit down too hard. 

She traced her fingertips over the sharp edges of his teeth, her toes curling when he bit down ever so gently. The heat between them was rising, and Soul closed his mouth over her fingers again, making her slide her hand down his cock once more. 

“Are you going to come for me?” she whispered. She removed her fingers from his mouth with a wet pop, instead bringing her hands around the front of his neck. His throat bobbed against the palm of her hand as he swallowed, gasping, “Yes.” 

“You’ll come for your meister?” 

“Oh fuck, Maka,” Soul whined, his grip on the counter causing his knuckles to turn white. He panted, grinding his hips harder into her hand, causing the kitchen cabinets to rattle. 

“M-Maka—" 

“I know,” she snickered, leaning forward and placing a kiss under his jaw before biting down. She ran her fingers through his thick white hair, then grabbed tightly, pulling hard enough to tilt his head back and face the ceiling. 

Her breath was hot on his ear as she spoke, “You’ll come for your meister like a good weapon, right Soul?” 

He shivered, his hips lunging forward at the words. A thin line of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Maka worked him hard and fast now, unrelenting in the pressure. She pulled his hair tighter, causing a desperate noise to reverberate from Soul’s throat. He bit his bottom lip, on the verge of begging her to keep going, thinking about her hands holding him, grasping him, using him, whether he was beneath her in bed, or pinned against the kitchen counter, or in her grip as a scythe… 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, his eyes going wide before he screwed them shut, his jaw slack. He released his grip on the counter, his fingers splayed and hovering as he arched his back. His muscles tensed as he slammed his hand on the counter with enough force to make the dishes clatter. 

Maka felt his body seize, a low whine bubbling out of his throat, melting into a groan when he shuddered into orgasm. She felt the pulse, the desperate release. Thick, hot cum slid down her hand, dripping down the front of his boxers. It came in waves, and she saw how red his face was, how tears had formed in the corner of his eyes from being so spent. 

They were still for a moment. Soul was shaking, unable to move because Maka still had a grip on his hair. She let go, and his body slunk forward, his elbows coming to rest on the countertop as he hung his head low, his bangs covering his eyes. 

He tried catching his breath, eyeing her over his shoulder. Maka pulled her hand out of his sweatpants, wiping the gooey cum off her hand onto his thigh. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He turned away, trying to hide his smile. 

“C’mon,” she cooed. She poked and prodded a finger into his ribs, wriggling herself in front of him. She brushed his bangs out of his eyes, whispering, “Let me look at you.” 

She cupped her hands under his jaw and made him face her, pressing his back against the kitchen counter. 

He slouched, his ragged breath causing his chest to rise and fall in waves. Tears glittered the corner of his red eyes, matching the blush that dusted over his cheeks. The corner of his mouth turned upward in a smile that he tried so desperately to dispel. Maka held him firmly by the jaw, bringing him down to her height to kiss him on the lips. She could feel the way his whole body trembled, running her tongue over his own before pulling away. 

“You’re so pretty when you come,” she said, taking hold of his hands. She brought the soft side of his wrist to her mouth and kissed it. 

Soul’s laugh bubbled out of his open mouth as she took hold of the front of his shirt, pulling him down into another kiss. It became one, then two, the heat and breath between them being exchanged intensely as their hands began grabbing at each other’s bodies. Clothing was pulled as nails scrapped down skin. Maka could feel Soul’s mouth, warm and wet, lick down her shoulder, his hand pushing her shirt collar down. She lifted her leg and wrapped it as close as she could around his hips, feeling the wet spot on the front of his crotch rub against her own. 

She pulled away from the kiss, tapping him on the nose. 

“Go take a shower. And change your clothes.” 

Her finger trailed down his nose, stopping at his lips. 

“I’ll finish cooking the food,” she stated. 

Soul parted his lips, running his tongue over her finger, his half-lidded eyes hazy and hungry for the girl in front of him. Maka pulled away, unraveling her leg from around his waist and plopping her bare foot to the floor. 

Soul huffed under his breath as Maka went to the sink, intent on washing her hands. 

She looked over her shoulder, her voice rising above the splash of the faucet. 

“Go on,” she said. She stuck her tongue out at him, then flung droplets of water from her fingers onto his shirt. 

In one fell swoop, Soul lifted her up and over his shoulder, causing Maka to squeal and splash sink water onto his back. He turned the faucet off with a smirk, wrapping his arms around her waist as Maka laughed, her voice shrill, “Soul Eater Evans, you better put me down!” 

Her bare thigh pressed into his cheek as she squirmed to be free. 

He carried her into the bathroom, stepping over the textbooks she had lying around the living room floor. 

“Soul!” 

“Sorry, that’s an order I can’t obey.” 

He turned on the bathroom light, hefting Maka on his shoulder to readjust his grip. His shoulder dug into her stomach, and she pressed her knee into his gut. 

“Soul, don’t you dare—!” 

He flung the shower curtain open, turning on the water. The spray of water sounded throughout the bathroom, mingling with Maka’s laughter and cries of protest. He didn’t wait for the water to heat— instead he stepped into the cold water, shocking the breath from both of them. He lowered her, letting her bare feet touch the shower floor, his arms still wrapped around her waist. Maka smacked his chest, pursing her mouth. 

The shower water began to heat. It flowed over their bodies, clinging to their clothes. He looked at her like this— the way the water soaked her to the bone, clinging to the curve of her breasts, the small of her waist, the tendrils of her blonde hair stuck to her face. He reached up, tracing his fingertips down her mouth, blinking slow, his face soft and thoughtful. 

“You’re such a jerk,” Maka hummed, opening her mouth to bite on his thumb. She pulled her shirt off and over her head. Soul followed suit. Piece by piece they removed their clothes, letting them drop to the shower floor with a wet plop. 

It was simple, these shared moments alone. Soul lifted her chin with his finger, lowering his head until their foreheads pressed together. Her breathing slowed. She held him by his wrists, felt his lips trail down and plant kisses over her forehead, her eyelids, down her nose, lightly trailing her mouth. 

The shower water flowed down their bodies, shimmering tendrils reflecting the bathroom light. Behind the curtain it was as though they were encased in a cocoon, a place beyond the danger and uncertainty of their lives as meister and weapon. Alone, behind closed doors, they allowed their soul wavelengths to touch, not for strength in a fight like were taught to do at Shibusen, but because they wanted to feel each other, to pull apart and look each other in the eye and understand, ‘ _I know you, I know your soul_.’ 

‘ _I’m not going anywhere, not like your mother and father_ ’. 

‘ _I won’t expect you to be perfect, like your family did_.’ 

‘ _Thank you for being part of my life_.’ 

The first time they kissed it was a mistake; or at least, that’s what Maka claimed. They had defeated an evil soul at a village in the South of Norway. It was the first night of winter, and the darkened sky twinkled with stars. 

Battered and exhausted from the fight, Maka sat on the ground, cross-legged, trying to catch her breath. She was looking at the blood on her white gloves, unsure if it was her’s, or the monster’s, or Soul’s blood. A single snowflake fell into the palm of her hand and melted. 

She felt Soul’s presence in front of her and looked up. His hand was extended out to her. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. Her head suddenly felt dizzy, black spots appearing in her eyes, and as she stumbled forward, Soul caught her in his arms. He grasped her shoulders, steadying her. The snowflakes began to fall in soft batches around them. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Maka took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

She straightened herself, but there were tears in her eyes. 

“That fight just… took alot out of me.” 

Soul kept his hands on her shoulders, his eyes creased with concern. 

“Well, take it easy. We’ve got all night.” 

Maka didn’t understand it— she didn’t understand the exhaustion she felt over what should have been a standard, if not mediocre battle. She didn’t understand how, during the battle, the evil soul had gone straight for Soul, and not for her. How feeling Soul’s pain at the attack caused the memory of the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella to flash across her vision. How Soul had took a slash to the chest, how slow everything became as he crumpled to the floor. The image of him, lying in a puddle of his own blood, refused to leave her memory. One wrong move, one moment of hesitation— 

And he could be gone in a flash. 

Maka lowered her head, her bangs covering her eyes as she reached out and gripped Soul’s arm for support. 

She didn’t understand either, why, out of desperation, or perhaps out of fear of losing him, she moved forward, tilting her head and closing her eyes. She pressed her mouth against his forcefully. 

This was the part that sent her reeling— he kissed her back. When they broke apart, Soul blinked, dumbstruck. They stared at each other, the silence so great that they could hear the snow gather around them on the street. Soul cupped his hands around her face and brought her into another kiss, this time gentler. Their shoulders relaxed, and they sunk into their first kiss as though it were the easiest, most familiar feeling in the world. 

Maka pulled away, her bottom lip wobbling, her eyes shining. 

“What’s wrong?” Soul breathed. He traced his thumb over her bottom lip, their foreheads bumping into each other as their hands interlaced. 

“That was a mistake,” Maka whispered. Her voice trembled, and she was on the verge of crying. 

“Was it?” 

Maka looked up at him. He brought their entwined hands between their chests, his other hand grasping at her shoulder. He pulled her into a hug, and they stood like that among the falling snow, relaxing into the rhythm of their breath. The snowflakes gathered in their hair, melting on their warm skin. 

Soul shook his head. 

“It wasn’t a mistake. Not to me.” 

He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head. 

Maka sniffled, her nose red from the cold. 

“Oh yeah?” She craned her neck to look at him. She bit her bottom lip, another wave of tears threatening to spill over. 

“My parents did this, and look how it turned out.” 

She tried gathering herself, furiously wiping at her tears with the palm of her hand. The blood on her gloves streaked across her cheek. The sight of the snow only tugged at her heart more, made it almost impossible to speak. 

“Sometimes I feel like I was their biggest mistake,” she said. 

Soul shook his head as she continued, “And maybe they would’ve been happier if— if I’d never been born—” 

“Don’t say that,” Soul said. He held her jaw gently in the palm of his hand, waiting for her to look him in the eyes. 

She did, and seeing his eyes made her crying slow, her whole body to relax. 

“Maka,” he continued. “The best thing your parents did was have you.” 

He sighed, bringing their joined hands to his heart. Maka could feel the heartbeat like the reverberation inside a closed piano. 

Carefully, he used his scarf to wipe the blood and tears from her face. 

Maka swallowed a hiccup, then asked, “Are we still partners?” 

She pulled away, her eyes furious when he began laughing. 

She was about to let go of his hand and tell him to go fuck himself, but feeling the laughter pluck at her heartstring, she couldn’t help but join in. Her face warmed as the tears turned into joy. 

“ _Yes_ , for the love of Lord Death, I _want_ to be your partner,” he replied, the light in his eyes soft as he smiled. 

They held hands as they walked down the snow-covered street. The streets were empty but the building windows glowed a homely, comforting light. Meister and Weapon stepped through the snow, their feet numb with cold but their chests radiating warmth. 

“Great job defeating that pre-kishin tonight,” Maka surmised. 

Without missing a beat Soul replied, “Thanks. Great job with that kiss tonight too.” 

Maka screeched at the back of her throat, shooting him a glare with wide eyes as she let go of his hand and took off at a run downhill. 

“Wait! I’m just kidding!” Soul called out. “Well, not really.” 

Maka’s heart pounded in her chest, remembering the feeling of his lips against her’s. She found a slick sheet of ice on the sidewalk, and in one swift movement she bent her knees, balancing herself on it. She skated down the ice, her hair rushing in the wind as she gained momentum. The cold air rushed over, and she thought to herself that there was no guarantee that her and Soul would turn out like her parents. She thought of his familiar weight in her hands, the flesh made steel, and decided that a single kiss couldn’t decide such a bleak future. 

Soul watched her descend, then at the bottom of the hill she faltered, slipping on the ice. Soul jerked, his entire body already on the verge of running towards her. She was about to faceplant the pavement, but caught herself just in time, spinning on her heel with a grin on her face. She waved at him. 

Soul pulled his hands from his pockets, and waved back. The snow fell in quiet, white droves as he descended the hill to rejoin his meister. 

Under the shower water, the buzz of marijuana still ebbing in their veins, Soul leaned down, trailing his lips over her ear, mumbling if she remembered the first time they kissed. 

Maka wrapped the crook of her arm around his neck, bringing him closer, murmuring that she did. 

He brought his lips to her’s, and together they exchanged a kiss, which melted into another, and then another. A spark ignited in her, and Maka grabbed at the back of his head, pressing their open mouths against each other, their tongues tasting and melding. 

Soul braced his arm over her head, pushing her against the shower wall as the kisses heightened. Maka could feel how hard he was against her thigh. She whimpered, wrapping one leg around his hip, digging her heel into the back of his thigh. 

The heat of the water stifled the air, steam building in a thick blanket around them. Soul sucked at her neck, grazing his hand down her stomach before coming to rest between her legs. Maka bucked against his hand, biting his bottom lip, whispering sharply under her breath that he better touch her, better make her— 

Soul pushed a finger inside. She swallowed, inhaling quickly. 

“How are you so wet already?” he purred. 

Maka suddenly grabbed him by the jaw. Their eyes stayed fixated on each other as Soul pushed in another finger. They refused to look away as he slid his fingers back and forth, his thumb lightly tracing her clit. 

Maka dug her nails into his jaw, making him smile, revealing just the slightest white of his sharp tooth. 

“How are _you_ so hard?” she whispered, challenging him. Her legs were shaking, feeling how slow and gingerly he touched her. She opened her mouth to tell him to quit teasing, but Soul stopped her, kissing her open mouth with his own, sliding his tongue over her’s. 

She groaned, rolling her eyes closed as he pressed his fingers harder inside her, moving faster. 

Maka’s voice came out as a song. It made him clench his jaw, close his eyes, find the rhythm that coaxed her melody. Maka arched her back and hummed, her eyes screwed shut. 

“S-Soul,” she huffed. He moved his fingers deeper into her, motioned for her to come. 

“Soul,” she repeated. “Take me to your room.” 

In a rush of motion he slammed the shower faucet off, then scooped her up into his arms. Maka wrapped her legs around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he lifted her out of the shower. In a succession of kisses, they bumped into walls, their wet bodies dripping water onto the floor. Soul carried her into his room, lowering her onto the bed, both of them refusing to break contact with each other’s touch. 

Soul framed his arms around her head, kissing her, tilting his chin up when her lips sucked at his neck. His feet were still on the ground, and with an arm around her waist he scooched her onto the bed, nestling his hips between her legs. 

They halted, feeling the twinge between their souls, a need to recognize one another before continuing. Their eyes were red from the marijuana high, their faces flushed and skin marked by hickies and scratches. 

They laid there, catching their breath. Soul brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Maka stroked her thumb over his lips. She felt how hard he was between her thighs, felt the tension in his back as he hovered there on top of her. Without meaning to her hips rocked gently back and forth. 

She clutched the back of his neck and gave a nod. Soul lifted himself up, stretching across the bed to pull open the nightstand drawer. He rummaged around, taking out a condom. He used the sharp of his tooth to rip the package open, spitting the wrapper onto the floor. He slipped it on, his hand on her thigh as he spread her legs open and lowered himself against her. 

They kissed, faint whispers being exchanged in the quiet. From between the dark gap in the window curtain, a single star pulsated its light. 

In one fell swoop, Maka rolled over, straddling him from on top. Soul felt his back sink into the bed, the heels of his feet digging into the bed as he watched his meister lower herself on top him. Soul sucked in a sharp breath as Maka let out a sigh, her hand immediately coming to the back of his head to grip at his hair. She rocked to and fro, his hands grasping at her thighs. She caught him by the wrists, their hands sliding to interlace, and together rode their song into the night. 

——————————— 

When she woke, Maka realized she wasn’t in her own room. This was nothing new— she had woken up in Soul’s room numerous times before, and sometimes they had woken up together in her room, or sometimes on the couch, legs and arms tangled in each other and the blankets. 

This was the first time she had woken up on the floor, however. 

She blinked, glancing at the band posters on Soul’s bedroom walls, her gaze traveling from the walls to the floor. Soul was asleep beside her, his back turned to her. Her eyes traced over his body— the white tufts of hair sticking out at the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, the planes of his muscles narrowing at his waist. The rise and fall of his breath was calm. Her mouth turned up in a small smile, and then she felt a pool of heat form between her legs. 

Scratch marks completely covered his back. One of them was so deep it had formed a scab. Dried beads of blood dotted his skin, and at the sight of it, Maka brought her balled hands under her chin, remembering the feeling of Soul’s hips grinding her into the floor— 

_Oh right_ , she thought to herself. At one point they had tried to switch places, Soul rolling over to get on top, which led to them rolling off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. 

She shifted under the blanket they shared, the carpet rough against her naked body as she scooted closer. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing between him and the floor to bring him closer. Maka pressed her cheek into the back of his neck and sighed. 

Soul rustled, his eyes fluttering open once before closing. Half asleep, he reached behind him, placing his hand on her thigh, sliding down until he comfortably held onto her calf muscle. 

“Good morning,” he mumbled, before disappearing into the darkness of sleep once again. 

Maka closed her eyes, pressed her forehead into the back of his head. She breathed his scent. Went further, and deeper, into the pull of his soul, his wavelength, and found he had been doing the same. They met halfway in the middle, their light relenting into one another. 

She recalled last night’s escapades, how they had grabbed and demanded, moaned and pleaded. Tore each other apart, only to be put back together. She couldn’t imagine it ever happening that intensely with anyone else. 

Her hand moved against his scar. 

Then again, they had done things for each other that would be impossible for anyone else. 

Soul shifted in his sleep, turned so that their foreheads pressed against each other. His hand went to her waist where her own scars still marked her body— heavy, rigid scars, that had left a permanent fixture of who she was in this lifetime. 

He knew every indent of her, every rough scar, and yet, it still made him shiver, still made him want to offer his body as some sort of anecdote for healing. He held onto her hand in the darkness, all the while looking down at a dark mirror of himself, seeing a reflection of the demon he had come to loathe. 

“Soul?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Open your eyes.” 

They pulled out of the dark drift, waking up to the early morning sun coming through the parted curtains. 

Soul scratched at his head. Maka yawned. 

“Don’t be mad when you look in the mirror,” he said. 

“Why would I be mad?” she retorted. 

Soul’s expression was nothing short of pained. 

“Your neck kind of looks like—” 

“I had sex?” 

Soul sighed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” 

“I destroyed your back,” Maka responded. She reached her hand around, trailing her fingertips down his back. “I mean, I sort of—” 

“Drew blood?” Soul asked. 

Maka licked her lips before offering an innocent smile. 

“I figured. It stings a little bit.” 

She blanched, then said, “It does? I’m sorry—” 

“No!” Soul placed his hand on her waist. “I like it.” 

He added sheepishly, “I like how sore my body feels too. Like I just got out of a battle or something.” 

Maka stifled her laugh, then reached out to cup her hand around his neck. 

“You’re sore too?” 

Soul took a deep breath, his eyes glazing over as Maka pulled him closer, her hand going to the back of his head. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he propped himself on his elbow, hovering over his meister, his partner, the young woman who had rode him over the edge last night. He was already getting hard as she let her lips linger over his. 

She thought about saying it, but the words would not come out. They had been together so long that they now spoke their own language, a quiet understanding done in minuscule actions: cleaning the dishes before their partner came home. Watering the plants while the other was away. The look given to each other when they knew it was time to leave. Their hands automatically clasping together when danger was present. The hum of music coming from behind Soul’s closed bedroom door. The flow of words as Maka recited a poem out loud. The arguments that came plentiful— whose turn it was to do chores, the inconsistencies in their battle strategies, the failure to communicate, the brutal truth which always cut straight to the heart of the matter— and always the long talk that transpired afterwards, both of them finding understanding and compromise. They were the first to tell each other ‘ _Good morning_ ’, and the last to say ‘ _Good night_.’ They lived under the unrelenting sun— the sun which sent golden bars of light across the kitchen floor as they made dinner together, the mundanity of telling each other what they did that day, and the specialness of how they listened. 

Maka gathered Soul in her arms and held on tightly, his own arms coming around her, tracing the length of her knobby spine. 

They came from families who did not listen, and it wasn’t until they found each other that they realized how much they had been deprived of that. 

There were a multitude of ways to say ‘ _I love you_ ’, and Maka found one of them to be in the climax of their shared union, their bodies building towards something until Soul pulled her hair over her neck, whispered in her ear to just let go, and she did. The feeling of muscle upon muscle contracting, the stickiness between them flowing onto the bed. It was during those moments that she told him she loved him. It didn’t feel cheap, not in the way her father would tell her mother he loved her just so she wouldn’t leave. 

When Maka told Soul she loved him, it was because she trusted him with her life, just as he trusted her skill as a fighter and meister, willing himself into her hands. It was because she trusted him with her soul, just as he trusted her with his own soul, but it breeched the confines of that. She wasn’t sure how to define it, but it was as though it was ungraspable, a song they had made together that could not be contained, let alone understood. 

Maka kissed him, her tongue tasting the melody of those notes. 

_Ah, there it was_ , she mused. It was music, untranslatable, but felt. It made her feel beyond herself in ways that she didn’t think were possible. She couldn’t imagine fighting a battle alongside anyone else. She didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else either. 

Maka nuzzled her face into his neck. He felt her eyelashes brush over his skin, light and soft as the morning sky. 

“I’ll have to get up soon,” she murmured. 

Soul wrapped his arms around her tighter. 

“Don’t.” 

Maka felt his lips trail kisses over her shoulder. She tickled his waist, making him tense before shivering. 

“I’ll have to.” 

Soul rubbed his eyes, then stretched his arms above his head. 

“I’ll go with you. If I’m going to take over your tutoring class I might as well meet your students.” 

Maka smiled. Soul shimmied under the blanket, wrapping his arms around her once more. 

They listened to each other’s breathing. 

“You know—,” Soul stated, “—that breakfast we made last night is still in the kitchen.” 

Maka lifted her hand, and Soul gave her a high-five in response. 

She buried her face in the pillow, sighing deeply before adding, “And our clothes are still in the shower. Soaking wet.” 

Soul nodded. 

“Cool. Laundry is done for the day.” 

She rolled her head, quirking her brow at him. 

Their eyes roamed over each other’s exposed skin. The marks from last night adorned their bodies in red and purple. 

She lifted herself up, propping her head into the palm of her hand. 

“Thank you.” 

Soul rolled onto his back, tilting his chin. 

“For what?” he asked. 

Maka looked into the gap of morning light coming through the curtains. The green in her eyes glistened, specks of warm hidden amber reflecting in the light. 

Her fingers trailed over her mouth as she answered, 

“For everything. 

Thank you.”


End file.
